


Daylight

by chewysugar



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Family, Fluff, Gen, Inspired by Music, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd is Red Hood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:27:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22193284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chewysugar/pseuds/chewysugar
Summary: Batman has a much needed epiphany after spending so many years in the darkness.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 84





	Daylight

**Author's Note:**

> I really wasn't going to publish this, but what the hey. 
> 
> It's inspired by--of all things there are and ever will be--the song "Daylight" by Taylor Swift.

The Batman emerged from shadows into the first rosy whisper of dawn. Another night among darkness—another hunt, another victory. Another head lobbed from the hydra of evil. In times before he’d have returned to his cave, to his home, and collapsed. Any sense of accomplishment would been blighted by the knowledge that, for all his sacrifice, cruelty and malice still bred in the festering parts of the world like mold.

But this dawn proved different. Perhaps because he’d been fighting alone for the first time in a long time, but a knew knowledge was weighing on his mind—a separate understanding. It had grown within him all night, and really, had been there for years and years. It was only his foolishness and complicity that had left the poor thing untended. 

With hands oddly shaky for one so controlled, he repelled up the side of a building. Birds were rustling from their sleep around him, the gentle coos a chorus the likes of which Rossini would have been envious. 

For the first time in so many years of willing isolation, he truly appreciated the fact that he wasn’t alone. Fear had kept him from feeling any sort of tether to his family, and to his friends. Yet over the course of that typical night, he’d seen it all as if for the first time. Despite his constant state of agitation, his mad thirst for revenge and the danger they were in almost all the time, they were still here—still with him. 

He hoisted himself over the roof’s ledge, and stood, looking down at the city. His city...no. They’re city. Dick’s, Tim’s, Jason’s, Selina’s, Barbara’s, Alfred’s...the list was too innumerable for him to really measure. Had he really only paid attention to the vipers down there? Had he really missed out on those who truly mattered? After everything, they deserved better than what he’d always given them. 

Gold crept over the streets, but cars were already moving in earnestness. Gotham truly never slept. Many would say this was due to its constant state of unrest, but Bruce had learned so much about its history in his lifetime, and he couldn’t think of it entirely in such pejoratives. Gotham had once been an idealistic small town with a dream, and that dream had been fulfilled. A small piece of that little town remained—and it was there, just as much of an insomniac as he himself.

He chuckled. Perhaps it was fitting, then, that he was the city’s protector. They were so similar, he and Gotham. It hid itself in its mask of chaos and calamity, and he—well, he was the one dressed in fifty pounds of tactile gear and a cape. 

The amber orb of the sun crested over the East River. Shadows fled, and still Batman watched. He felt a rush of a pride—this was his city, his home, and there were people here who loved him when they had every reason to shove his face in the most rancid pile of mud. 

Without thinking, he peeled his mask over his face. The cool breeze of a beautiful winter morning danced across his skin. He was just Bruce Wayne now—the real man beneath even the veneer of the make-believe playboy. Soon he would be home; Alfred would have breakfast and the usual muttered disapproval at Bruce’s keeping such late hours; Dick would be awake, training before grabbing some chow. He’d likely find Tim still asleep, it being a rare weekend when he didn’t have to patrol. Kid was always up at the ass crack of dawn every other day of the week. 

And maybe...

“It’s not safe,” said a low voice behind him, “to go wandering around without a helmet on.” 

Bruce looked over his shoulder, and saw Jason standing on the ledge near him. He must have been too lost in thought to hear him coming up. His eyes were unreadable behind the mask he wore over them, but there as a slight crease in his mouth—a smile. 

“Look whose talking,” Bruce said, not bothering to don his cowl. 

“That wasn’t a helmet,” Jason said. He strode with perfect ease towards Bruce. “That was a bucket with red spray paint. You were the one who taught me the importance of proper protection.” 

“Is that why I haven’t ended up with any grandkids yet?”

Jason chuckled. “You ain’t old enough yet, Daddy-o.” He stared down at the streets—Bruce wondered if the same thoughts were going through his mind. The sensation he’d felt—of seeing the beautiful truth for what it was—crossed his consciousness like a stray kite, and he seized it by the tail before it could be sucked into the stratosphere. 

“Jason,” he said, doing his utmost to keep his voice measured. “I know things between us have been strained...” Well that, he thought, was putting a very fine point on it indeed. To his relief, Jason didn’t snort or scoff the words away. He continued to stare as light poured over the city. “But I want you to know,” Bruce went on “that I am grateful—more than I can really say—that you’re here with me...with us...even for what it cost you, having you back...” And then the lump worked its way into his throat, and stoppered his voice in its tracks. 

He’d done it now. Jason, he knew, more than any of them, was like a cat—prowling on the edge towards the chance of home and shelter, and liable to dash away with a hiss and a scratch at the wrong provocation or slightest perceived shock. Bruce had just gone and tread over sacred ground. He’d be lambasted now—maybe they’d even get into a fight up here in this beautiful morning.

The wind whipped Jason’s dark locks, so like Bruce’s and his other sons’. 

A small sigh escaped Jason’s lips. Then he removed his mask, and turned his head to face Bruce. Eyes blue as cobalt looked at him on the verge of turning to water. He smiled—no menace or superiority or twisted humor, but a genuine thing as soft as the sunlight sapling the river. 

“What do you know about that?” He said, all cockiness and swagger abandoned. “Genuine affection.” He gave a small nod, as if giving himself permission to do something he himself had long forced into exile. “You know underneath all the piss and barbed wire I’m soft as a puff of cotton candy and twice as delicate.”

Bruce arched his eyebrows. “Piss and barbed wire?”

“Hey, I’m a kid of the streets, Bruce. My language is bound to be colorful.” He ran a hand over his face. “Christ, I am bushed. Think I can hitch around back to Casa Wayne for some shut eye?”

Bruce nodded. “I’d like that. But don’t be too hurt if Alfred hides the silverware.”

This time Jason really did scoff. “You are too twisted for public radio, you know that? Put your digs back on before someone sees you.” He himself replaced his mask, then fired a cable on a downward slope. Bruce watched him zip downwards to the alley below, but he didn’t follow, not right away. 

He looked back at the beautiful sunrise again...deep, down in the cage of bones that had kept his heart prisoner, he felt a stirring of something like happiness. He took a breath, and for once, didn’t flee from the chance to experience true contentment. Instead, he wrapped the feeling in something secure. He wasn’t going to lose it, not when it had been so long since he’d welcomed it into his being. 

Then, heeding Jason’s advice, he pulled his mask back on, and followed his son towards the call of him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Do let me know what you think.


End file.
